Everything Changes
by Pr
Summary: Post episode 'Requiem' series: After Scully confides in Skinner, he discovers that Krycek and Marita already know about Scully's secret.


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Everything Changes   
by PR

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Cat: Skinner angst  
Post Requiem piece  
Disclaimer: We don't need no stinking disclaimers!   
Authors note: See what you think of my take on this...  
Originally posted to the Scuttlebutts Group 6/00

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Everything changes now.   
His thoughts stopped.   
Pregnant. 

Skinner swallowed, and looked back at her, speechless. 

Everything changes now, he thought once again. Her confession had engulfed all sense of self-pity and shame he had felt when he came into her hospital room. He felt like an oaf-- a damn fool, unable to move or speak as he watched the mixture dismay and amazement crash over her. The sensation of touch poured back into his body as she gripped his forearm. He looked down and the motion felt so slow, weighted, as though he were in a dream. He watched himself lift a hand and place it over the top of hers, covering it completely. He felt himself open his mouth, his lips were dry. 

Skinner closed his eyes, desiring equanimity. Trite scenarios and circumstances, even suspicions materialized for him-- and suddenly he found himself yearning to hear Scully admit to promiscuousness, but a wretchedness seized him for the thought. He cringed as the deluge of impressions struck him unbidden; so much had happened, there was so much he had refused to see, to believe, but now he had no choice. How...? What was being done to this woman against her will? Should he even begin to consider iwho/i the father was?

Skinner open his eyes and kept them down, avoiding her gaze as he drew his hand away from hers. 

"I," he heard himself croak, and cleared his throat to try to begin again, but couldn't find what to say. An overwhelming sensation of frustration and distraction took a strangle hold of him, steering his body numbly from her bedside and through the door. It felt like someone was trying to shovel his heart out of his chest-- trying to cut through the stony soil and carve out a lump he thought stopped pounding in this way long ago-- driving envy through his veins and shards of deception up his spine. 

Somewhere down the hall, he slumped into a seat and sat there until the daylight was nearly gone from a nearby window. His thoughts bogged down in the murkiness of suspicions, pulling themselves free only to sink into the depths of lamentation and concern for her, for himself. Why in God's name had he reacted like he had? How could he walk out on her when she'd confided in him?

How could they have been so foolish to risk so much? Skinner understood full well how things could happen between a man and a woman-- among agents, he'd seen it enough during his career. There were circumstances and longings beyond reason- but now this was the ultimate of precarious positions that Scully was placed in because of Mulder.

Skinner bit down hard and ground his jaw, chewing the idea up and wanting to spit it away. He was being unfair and presumptive-- but they were so close, how could he think otherwise? Scully's reaction told him everything he needed to know; this was no Immaculate Conception-- no conspirator event to cause her to react adversely or fearfully-- and her amazement told him that consequence had not been a consideration

during intercourse-- with who ever it had been, Mulder or not.

His instinct told him who it was, and Skinner found himself unable to reign his anger in spite of knowing how Scully must be feeling. 

He heard Scully's voice and turned. 

She dressed and standing at the nurses station speaking to a man-- a doctor. 

When Scully turned to leave, Skinner stood and she hesitated when she saw him. 

Did she understand that he needed time? He wondered, feeling guilty. Or did Scully recent him walking out on her, dispassionate of her needs? Was it so obvious that he suspected Mulder as the father? Was his disappointment so clear? Would she forgive him and could Skinner let her?

Composed, she walked down the hall toward where he was standing, where he was waiting. 

"You came back?" she asked him, her expression carefully neutral.

"I never left," he answered, unpocketing his hands, reluctantly meeting her shrewd gaze. Who was misreading whom here, he wondered. There was so much more meaning in what he said-- his reproach for Mulder's absence in lieu of everything that happened, and just when Scully was going to need him most. And who was here for her again? Who was always here for her? Didn't she see this?

He had refused to help her time after time, but Skinner always did. He denied her wises to do things he knew were detrimental to her safety or career-- He tried to protect her the best way he knew how, without being so damn obvious about it. 

Scully studied him, her eyes searching his, and he felt exposed. 

"You should have gone home," Scully said, and started walking away.

Skinner followed her in silence all the way to the elevator. Then, standing there waiting, he forced to himself to say something, "I'll drive you home." Again, he felt the oaf.

He guided her into the elevator, his hand to the small of her back as always, and he left it lightly resting there as the doors shut, intending only to move when she conveyed the desire for him to. The contact was needful, conveying what he hoped was apology and security to her, while he took comfort in knowing for the moment she was safe and with him.

He drove her home and the drive was quiet except for when he asked if she was hungry. He didn't feel much like eating. Scully said no, and he drove on to her apartment. Skinner would have normally dropped her off, stopping at the curb to let her out, but he parked instead, luckily finding a space just down the street from her building. Scully said nothing and started to get out, hesitating when he shut the motor off and got out. 

Skinner was running on autopilot, his inherent sense of courtesy and manners guiding him through the numbness of thought and emotion. It would take only a word from Scully to stop his progression, stop him from coming to open her door and walk her to the front steps of the apartment.

Scully said nothing and he continued his ministrations; checking their surroundings as they walked, pocketing his keys, placing his hand at the small her back to guide her up the front steps and beyond to her front door.

Scully opened the door to her apartment and left it open as she walked in. Skinner followed her inside; he would have followed her anywhere until she told him otherwise. 

The door shut and locked, he turned finding Scully standing there with her back to him, she'd only managed to turn on a single light on the sofa table. He went to her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. What could he say? He wasn't any good at this kind of thing...

A long moment had passed, then without warning, Scully turned leaning into him. Her move sent a jolt of surprise through him, freezing his joints, making him feel awkward and not knowing what to do. When he felt her shudder and knew she was sobbing, Skinner embraced her fully. He knew what to do better than he thought, and perhaps that's what his damn trouble was, thinking too much all the time. He'd always known, but was afraid. He was awkward and ungainly; it was so much easier to be a cold hearted son-of-a- bitch or an indifferent asshole than it was to be sensitive and emotionally supportive.

Scully continued her quiet sobbing and Skinner felt his heart sink. He'd caused this and he was stupid to think so inwardly. He should say something, but he didn't know what and again his instincts took over, allowing him to stroke her back and shoulders slowly, directing him to smooth her hair. He wanted to comfort her, and he tried, but he knew he was doing a piss poor job of it unless he spoke, but still he had no idea what to say. Honesty would guide him, it had only failed him a few times in his life, and hopefully it wouldn't this time. 

"I'm no good at this," he said softly, messaging her back in earnest as if he could embellish his disclosure with the increased strength of his touch, "I don't know what to say." 

Scully drew away, snuffling and wiping at her downward turned eyes. She wouldn't look at him and said nothing in response to him. He felt frustrated-- even if she yelled at him to get the fuck out it would ease his uncertainty.

Perhaps it was just best for him to leave after all--

"I'm going to lie down for a while," Scully finally said, as he was ready to turn and leave.

She left him standing there as she disappeared down the darkened hall into another room. Left him to wonder just what the hell it was he was supposed to do now.

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When the door came open, Frohike took pause seeing a red eyed Skinner scowling back at him. 

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

Skinner squinted back at him from within the darkened apartment. "Yes," he said, and his voice was thick. 

Frohike could see that the man had just woke; Skinner's dress shirt hung open, his trousers were zipped and buttoned but his belt hung loosely in the loops.

"What time is it?" Skinner asked, stepping back to usher Frohike inside.

"It's almost--" Frohike was immediately hushed by Skinner. He lowered his tone to a whisper, "It's almost ten... Is she all right?" 

A dim light flickered on and Frohike saw Skinner nodding, his head down as he worked his shirt closed. "She's sleeping," he said, distracted by his work. 

"How was she at the hospital? Doctors say what caused her to pass out?" Frohike questioned in hushed tones.

"She didn't say," Skinner said, and began tucking his shirt into his pants. "Once I told her about Mulder she was pretty quiet."

"She didn't take it well, did she. I was afraid of that."

Skinner looked up him briefly. "Is that why you're here?" he asked, and looked down to work his belt together.

"I suppose so," Frohike said, wondering himself still just what he was here for. To check on Scully, of course, but what to say was another matter entirely. "She's strong, but she needs support just like anyone else. I guess I feel like I'm a friend, who she needs to know cares at times like this, just like you."

Skinner looked up at him. There was question in his eyes. 

Didn't he consider himself a friend? Frohike wondered. Was he discounting himself as insignificant in this whole circle of cause and effect? They had been leery of him, Frohike, Langley and Byers, but soon recognized the man as friend rather than foe, despite the untamed circumstances that put him in the middle. Of course he discounted himself, how could be not when he was the go between the bad guys and the good guys. How lame, Frohike chided himself. But how truer could it be?

Skinner exhaled, his eyes drifting toward the kitchen as though he was searching for what it was he wanted to say. "Scully knows who her friends are," he said finally, his eyes meeting Frohike's gaze. "It's late, though. I think we should go, and leave her to rest."

Frohike nodded agreement, better to leave her alone. "I just wanted to check on her," he explained, feeling obligated. 

Skinner nodded, gathering his suit jacket that was draped over the sofa arm. "Call her tomorrow," he said, walking Frohike to the door. 

They were in the hall and Skinner hesitated, almost jumping as he said, "My keys," and went back inside, turning to Frohike briefly and adding, "I'll meet you out front."

Why he felt it necessary to meet him out front escaped Frohike as the man pushed the door to. He waited a moment, standing alone in the hall wondering a second before he headed for the front door.

Inside, Skinner stood in the dim amber light, scanning the sofa table for his keys, then moved to the coffee table to search there. The kitchen he thought and went to look on the counter, finding his keys next to the microwave. Pocketing the keys he started back out and stopped, glancing back down the dark hallway. 

He knew better than to go there for any reason other than to check on her. That was all he would do, he thought as he moved toward the hall. At the bedroom door, Skinner stopped and knew this was why he told Frohike he'd meet him out front, with the hopes of prompting the man from the hall, leaving him alone and now only feeling criminal. 

The door was ajar and he eased it open the rest of the way, diluted light from the living room crept in, falling over the bed and the shape lying across it. Skinner studied the line of her body beneath the afghan, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the pout of her full mouth, her lashes like black lace. 

He stepped toward Scully, his heart aching as he looked down on her. He was the one here for her, and all he ever wanted was for her to know this. He wanted her to know, but he wouldn't tell her, he couldn't tell her. He wasn't afraid to say wait he felt, he'd been wrong and lived through lonely nights, but the silence was too loud without the thought of her whispers he had never heard.

Skinner stood by the bedside, looking down at Scully as she slept. He craved her touch, and his prayers were filled with finding her by his side each morning he opened his eyes. She could never know the power she held over him. So much power his breath was taken, his world shook and the tides broke over him. A single word could cut him to shreds, a single look could lie waste to his soul.

He reached out to her. If only there were ever a moment...

His fingers hovered over her shoulder, the soft skin of her bare arm, lowering until he captured the afghan edge, and drew it up over her. 

Scully stirred, turning over, her back to Skinner. 

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Coming…  
Part 2: Divination  
Comments welcome: [_perri29@aol.com_][1]

   [1]: mailto:perri29@aol.com



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